If only I could
by bronsautracks
Summary: Oneshot. Aragorn is distressed when he thinks Arwen doesn't love him. But who will come to mend his broken heart? Warning: Implied sexual content. AragornXOC and AragornXArwen implied


Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, but I will stake claim on the nameless elf in my story… actually, you can have her if you want her…

If only I could

Aragorn felt the sun upon his face and a cool breeze blew in. He concluded that he had left the window open last night. His eyes squinted in the light as he tried to gather his surroundings. He slowly began to soak in the view. He had _not_ left the window open. There was no window to speak of. He was in Rivendell, and, as such, there were no doors or windows, or even walls. Not a lot of privacy was to be found there.

_ Not a lot, indeed_, he thought as a hissing breath emitted from behind him. Apparently, he was not alone in his room in Rivendell. For the first time, he noticed the slender arm wrapped warmly about his (quite bare) torso. His eyes followed the arm, until it disappeared behind his back. He did not know who accompanied him in his bed. In his semi-waking state, he had no recollection of the happenings of the night before.

Doing his best not to disturb the faceless arm, he twisted around in its grasp, to identify his companion. And then it all came back to him.

-Flashback-

Moonlight stretched across the small clearing, surrounded by the elven pillars and buildings. Aragorn sat on a bench, staring up through the branches, spots of light barely speckling his tensed form. Yes, he was tired, and yes, it was most certainly late. But his thoughts were too many to be ignored for sleep.

He thought of Arwen. He thought of the fact that she would never be able to return his feelings. No, he couldn't have her, for she was far above him; in age, in stature, in agility, and in just about anything else you can think of. But she most obviously surpassed him in beauty. Indeed, her eyes alone set his mind reeling through images best left untouched. He could not have her. And it broke him. He felt as a vase would, when shattered by the careless hand of a child. Granted, the child didn't know any better, but that did not ease the pain. In a way, it almost made it worse.

Aragorn did not notice the presence of another as she approached, nor would he have cared if he did. He would have ignored her anyway. And as she watched him, immersed in his thoughts, eyes shining with unshed tears, she sensed his agony, his hurt. It burned her. It made her want to recoil. But more so, she wanted to ease it. Make it go away, fade into the night like the fog of his breath.

She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, "The halfling was badly injured upon his arrival, but he is far better now. And yet, your pain is not eased here. Tell me, do you not find joy in Rivendell? Most humans find it an altogether pleasing place, but your ache… it has only worsened since you came here."

Aragorn turned to look at her. Her voice was filled with concern and hurt. She seemed to be affected by his forlornness, "It is not Rivendell that plagues my heart." He was too distracted to properly answer her question. Never before had he seen an elf with red hair.

"It is your heart that ails you, then? I can help you."

It was a strange statement. He didn't quite comprehend it. What did she mean by it? How could _she_, who knew barely anything of him, help him? "Will you make me forget?" he asked.

"If only I could."

-End Flashback-

He still wasn't quite sure why he had done what he did that night. Even as he stared at her angelic face, eyes closed peacefully in such a way that her eyelashes brushed her cheek and curled up at the ends, leaving shadows, like spider legs, crawling over her face. Her red hair splayed out like a fan over the pillow. He would not deny that she was fair, fairer far than he dared to admit. Neither would he deny that she awoken something in him that night that they spent together.

So eager was she to please him, to ease his pains, and to quench the thirst that he was unaware he had. She paid no mind when he ran his hands through her silken tresses and sang a song that Arwen once sang to him when his love for her was new. Nor did she complain when he called Arwen's name into night and whispered it into the pillow, instead of hers. She even cradled him in her arms when he wept for Arwen.

Her name. Her name that he couldn't remember. She had told him. She must have told him. Why then did he not remember? Because, the whole time, he had not thought of her. He had thought of Arwen.

He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, to feel her just once more before he forever put her behind him. It had been their unspoken agreement, a secret between friends, to be kept even from themselves.

Aragorn rolled sideways out of bed and dressed. Today, he left for Mordor. Nothing would hold him back. Today, he would leave it all behind.

He spied the Evenstar around his neck.

_Arwen._

"_Will you make me forget?"_

"_If only I could."_


End file.
